PLACE 
IN 

THE SUIV 



OEORQE: TVILLIAM ALLISON 




Class 

Book 

GopjTiglitl^^.- 



CDPXRIGHT DKPOSm 



A PLACE IN THE SUN 



A PLACE IN THE SUN 



GEOROK ^WILLIAM ALLISON 



RIVERSIDE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
South Bend, Indiana 
1916 



-.N 



6> 






Copyright 1916 

By George William Allison. 

All rights reserved. 



M: 



SEP 15 1916 



PRINTED BY GONIEC POLSKI PRINTING COMPANY 



©GI.A437()99 



To one who cannot read this page 

By reason of her youth 

My daughter Clare Louise 

I dedicate this book 

In the hope 

That she will grow 

To understand her father^ s love 



CONTENTS. 

A FOOI^'S DREAM 25 

AFTER SUNSET— A LONE STAR BEFORE DARK 61 

AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY 89 

A PILE OF STONES ON MT. CHEYENJJE 78 

A PLACE IN THE SUN 15 

A PSALM AND A FALL AFTERNOON 48 

A ROBIN IN WINTER 79 

BEYOND THE GRASP 60 

BRUCE ISMAY'S SOLILIQUY 71 

CONSCIENCE 82 

DELIGHT 45 

DESCRIPTIVE MUSIC 54 

DIVERGENT PATHS 81 

HOPE 84 

HUMANITY 29 

IMPATIENCE DIVINE 41 

IN THE MUSIC-ROOM 58 

IPALNEMOANI 87 

LOVE CHASTISES : 88 

MOTHER 50 

MOTHER-LOVE 49 



NATURE'S ALCHEMY ....«...-,...-. _— , 85 

PEACE „ 35 

REPLY TO OBSCENITY 56 

SELF-SACRIFICE .l....... "..... 2 8 

SOLITUDE DISTURBED ...' „...........: 1.......:....... 78 

SO THE WORLD GOES ON .....„...:...,L............. 21 

THE BEGINNING QP THE DANCfe :.... 62 

THE BRIEF SUPREMACY ..1 .....2d 

THE CINEMATOGRAPH ........:...! .......:........................ 67 

'i'HE CLOUD OF FLESH ...: 5^ 

THE CLOUD WITHIN THE POOL 69 

THE DESERT PRAYER 36 

THE ETERNAL PYRAMIDS ZO 

THE FLOWING SPRING 65 

THE GOTHIC PRAYER 34 

THE GROWTH OF AN IDEAL 58 

THE NIGHT-WATCH 48 

THE OLD MAN AT THE DOOR - IB 

THE ROAD I CHOOSE '. 4t 

THE SERVILE THOR ..,....,. 23 

THE SUPER-MAN 17 

THE TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION 19 

THOTS AFAR ft# 

THE WORLD AT THE WAILING- PLACE 1« 



A PLACE IN THE SUN. 

God, how men have struggled 
And battled in bloody fight 
To briefly stand a sturdy while 
Possessing that poor eminence we call 
''A place within the sun!" 
To bask in that unholy light 
How many men have vainly died 
To push their petty prince ahead? 
What a striving human herd we are! 
And tho the place one may have gained, 
And tho the bloody reddened light may shine 
And keep the face abeam awhile 
With sleek sardonic vulcan gleam, — 
"^hor<^, always stands a shadow in the rear . . . 

— 15 — 



An umbra strewn with bodies of the slain 

Whose winds are fetid-weighed from rotting dead, 

And weird with hellish corses of the dying horde 

Or the agonizing cries of disappointed pain they raise 

And on either side the penumbral threats 

Of clashing fighting rival arms 

Of driven maddened maudlin men 

Who come to take in turn each winner down 

Who stands above so ill at ease 

To gratify his egotistic pride and vanity 

Within the envied place up in the sun ! 

God, we are a striving hortling human herd ! 



16 



THE SUPER-MAN. 

Create a self ! 
Attain the end for which thou'rt born; 
Achieve the aim of lusty living ! 
Nor let the race with eager claim 
For charity defeat thy course, 
And hold thee down amid the horde 
Of common ordinary men! 
If obstacles oppose thy path, 
Step not around — 
But brush the paltry earth aside, 
Wave the universe away 
That you may pass 
And yonder stand unsheathed 
Of shackling arts 
And skillfully contrived device, 
Unbaggaged over-man ! 



17 



THE WORLD AT THE WAILING PLACE. 

From sheer ashamedness of sin 
The world now seeks its weary wailing-place 
To pour its grief-o 'erladen soul in prayerful tears 
And cry release from dismal servitude 
Of gods who know not peace. 
Too long alas some tempting strayed 
In curiousity too close the brink 
Of precipices bounding deepest hell, 
When of a halt — the bank gave way, 
And they went tremblingly o'ersault 
Without support — wherefore we weep ! 
Unceasingly the sobs ascend to God ! 



18 — 



THE TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION. 

The putrid odor of decaying dead 
Rises from their earthy cerements 
And wafted by the fetid winds 
Offensively it floats across the fields; 
And even now entrained 
Comes trampling thru the streets 
Trailing in the triumph of the host, 
And making sick the scene 
Of glory- vaunting guilt! 
It taints the show of triumph born of war ! 
The glitter and the glamor of parade 
Suff iceth not to blot from memory 
The curses of the murdered dead 
They killed to win the field. 
Call this not a triumph! 
Nay, for shame ! Say failure ! 
For they fail who win by force 

— 19 — 



And virulently vaunt a victory 
Above the decomposing bodies 
Or unnumbered dreamless dead ! 



20 



so THE WORLD GOES ON. 

And so the world goes on. 
Today to build — tomorrow to destroy ! 
Today to speak of brotherhood and God ; 
Tomorrow nations pray to Jupitor or Mars! 
Not wait to pray, but eagerly, 
While pushing engines of destruction 
To vantage points from which 
The projectiled fingers of a pained death 
May reach and grasp and crush 
With iron hand and rasping nails 
Whole cities full of men and homes. 
With treasures of labor and art ! 
And so the iron claw of a rabid hate 
That knows no let or stay 
Still grasps with pitiless greed 
For the fruit of the centuries peace. 
And those who spoke yester of God, 

— 21 — 



Today study tactics and field, 
Issue orders, engage, and count dead. 
And mutter to Mars in the mean ! 
And so the world goes on. 
O utter ennui ! 



— 22 — 



THE SERVILE THOR. 

In days of yore the hills of Norseland 
Heard within their yawning gulches' depths 
The deafening din and rumbling roar of thunder, 
As Thor the mighty strong of arm 
Raised hands aloft and smote with sturdy stroke 
Of hammer, blows which brot a mighty crash 
And seemed to crush the souls of men. 
And shatter in a thousand scattered fragments 
The hardihood that feared nor man nor devil. 

But now the knotted arm is bound 
Which held such mighty power, — 
Fettered by him who crivged 
And feared the awful force ! 
No longer free to roam the hills at will, 
But work content in shop and mill. 
In street, on field or sea. 
To raise his busy whurr and clattered din, 

— 23 — 



To lift and bear with ease the heavy tons, 

To light the darkened ways of puny men, 

To flash their mystic words thru widened leagues 

Behold the mighty god who once was free, 

The willing servile slave of fearless man ! 



— 24 



A POOL'S DREAM. 

I hold within my hand the palsied, pale-sick moon 
And stand beneath the hollow, starry dom6 
Of blue we call in iterance the sky ; 
We know not what it is. 
But I shall hurl this moon 
With Herculean strength of arm 
Against the key-star of that dome 
And leave the shattered fragments 
To come tumbling down 
And crush the earth 
And all that in it is. 
What if I perish in the deal? 
The melee will be great 
And I shall gloat with glee 
To see the pieces of the blue 
Lie scattered here about 
Amid the tumbled wreck of stars I 

— 25 — 



THE BRIEF SUPREMACY. 

A strong sense of the incomparably serene, 
The exaltation of victorious chosen few, 
Crowns the hardship and toil 
Of the torturous upward trails 
That lead to the peaks and blue. 
Undaunted by the chilly gaze of frowing cliffs. 
The snarling lips of Nature curled in scorn 
At the effeminacy of the weak, 
But challenging the strong, — 
We climbed and have achieved : 
Are tasting of the joys reserved 
For thoiSe who will to win 
And do by sheer determination! 
But as from hatred at the core 
For those who prove their best, 
We, standing on the summits. 
Beheld them snarl the more 

— 26 — 



And prove intolerant of conquerors ; 
They drove us dumbly down to valley 
With our fellows far below ! 

How like is life! 
To attain the topmost pinacle of Fame 
May be our greatly gifted human lot, 
To only then retire to the humbler ranks 
Of ordinary and forgotten men, 
Dissatisfied the more for having tasted 
Joys and conquests we could not longer own, 
Or bequeath to those who come behind! 



— 27 — 



SELF-SACRIFICE 

What tho I push myself to heights sublime 
As fit for only super-man? 
Does not the whispering pine, 
Sole remnant in the wake of weilded axe, 
Suffer greviously from cruel gale 
Which sweeps the unprotected hillside 
And its lonesome window ? 
Are not her branches whipped and snapped 
Until the forest beauty bleakly stands 
A horrid mangled ugly hag? 

So alone can I arise of self, 
Achieve the vaunted over-man, 
With loveless crippled character: 
A gaunt and barren trunk of a man 
Of height enough to spare. 
But lacking spread ! 
I cannot rise without I raise the race! 

— 28 — 



HUMANITY. 

I beheld a terrestrial planet 
Swung far out among the spheres and space 
Majestically poised and rotary, 
And round the sun it swung; 
Millions of beings clambered round its sides 
Or tossed upon its liquid seas ; 
Creating or eating bread they are : 
And something else. What? 
Ah, there *s a word I cannot meet! 
They've tears and smiles. 
And loves and hates, 
Hopes and fears. 
And wars and peace, 
Deep wellings of an unsung soul, — 
Yea, more than this ! But what, 
Exactly what, I cannot say ; 
Except, perhaps, they 're human ! 

— 29 — 



THE ETERNAL PYRAMIDS. 

The rugged Cheops had only scowled ; 
The master builder knew his meaning well — 
And urged his foremen ply their whips more freely ; 
The uncurled lashes snarled and snapped; 
The swarthy slaves o 'erstrained their tired limbs 
To barely move the heavy block. 
The granite mass rose slowly from the earth ; 
The desert sun shone hot on drifting sands ; 
The blurr'd horizon quavered in the atmosphere; 
The sluggish Nile flowed on between its muddy banks 
Adown the valley distantly to sea. 
Still scowled the mighty Cheops — 
Him of power — whose word is life 
Or death to slaves as he alone may choose. 
A dusky slave has fallen by the granite mass 
Where he has lifted much on little food 
Except impotent rebellious hate 

— 30 — 



That dared not risk the lash, 

Or worse, a head removed ! 

The stinging lash brings on outcry 

But a trembling quiver of the tired flesh 

Beneath the place the welt appeared. 

His body is removed and laid aside to die. 

Another fills his place. The work goes on! 

The mighty Cheops must his tomb erect 

'Ere he too drops besides the rock 

He could not lift alone — tho king — 

Except for help of these — tho slaves. 

The massive pyramid of Cheops stands 
Durable above Egyptian desert sands, 
A memorable monument as much to them 
Who toiled with no reward save tasks and death 
As His to him who drove (and still some drive!) 
The slaves he plied beneath his system 
Before the age of justice had arrived — 
If still His come! 

— 31 — 



CONSCIENCE. 

On the boundary of the expansive sea 
One stands to watch the rolling waters heave, 
To note the inward creep of tide, 
The rush of waves that lash the shore, 
Thrust threatening finger-rills toward ones feet. 
Then ebb thru wetted glistening sands 
Adown to meet the motion inward bent 
Thus o'er and o'er. 

So under the orbs and lisping winds of God 
The tide and waves of conscience rise 
And crowd and rush and lash 
Remorselessly the guilty mind of man 
Once he has cast up continents of crime 
To impede the restless motion 
Of the boundless seas of God. 



32 



LOVE CHASTISES. 

As the Christ of old in righteousness indignant 
Hurled his well-aimed seven woes 
Against pretending Pharisees and scribes, 
Then having quit the holy city 
Looked backward o 'er the vale and wept 
They would not hear and heed his word, — 
So the careful mother whips the naughty child 
In cold and stern severity 

Then quickly turns away to hide the growing tear 
That dims the eye and blurrs the vision. 
Chastising love e'er suffers most itself. 
And after cries, * ' If thou hadst known ! ' ' 



— 33 — 



THE GOTHIC PRAYER. 

God help the men who utter 
Long slender Gothic prayers in plaintive tones 
That rise in cold grey splendor 
To majestic pointed arches 
Reaching toward a hollow-sounding heaven 
And bring back only echoes — 
Effete echoes of the prayers themselves — 
Sounding empty on the sated ear, 
Nor giving peace to praying souls 
Of sinful sorrow-laden men, 
Or such as we. 



34 



PEACE. 

In the mist of the valley 's summer green, 
In the setting sun's golden haze 

And the purple and azure and dreamy mists 
Which artlessly o 'er the whole scene plays, — 
There ascends a column of uncurled smoke' 
From the stack of an unpaintod home. 
Not a sound or a breath on the stillness breaks 
To disturb the gathering gloam, — 
And God calls the picture '* Peace"! 



— 35 — 



THE DESERT PRAYER. 

No minaret of mosque to mark the scape ; 
No sounding chant of priestly call to prayer ; 
Only a solitary camel-rider, 
A bowl of sapphire blue for sky, ^ 

A limitless expanse of desert sands, 
That yesterday were rippled with the winds, 
Now growing gold and glowing in the rising sun 
What greater summons could the Allah give 
As call to prayer than this ? 
Dismount and wash. The rug. The desert still. 
A penitential forehead to the dust. 
Allah lives, and ruleth over all: 
The barren drifted desert is not lone ! 



36 



IPALNEMOANI. 

Among a host of other stern-faced gods ye stand, 
Appalled by human blood and human fears : 
Their green stone altars running red in blood 
While human faces trickle salty tears. 
For you no breast is torn or bleeding heart 
Is waved toward the burning sun, 
No body tumbled down the temple-steps 
To sate the savage rage we shun; 
No voice of priest rings out from temple-top 
For you all human-kindness demonize, 
No cry of waging war or tossing lottery 
To bring or choose the human sacrifice 

For thee alone of all the pantheon 
That grace the hills of Mexico 
There is no sacrifice of life or limb 
That praise upon thine altars does bestow : 
For thee alone there swings the burning incense 

— 37 — 



"Whose aromatic fumes to thee arise 

To voice the prayers of human hearts 

Which would diffuse themselves thru earth and skies. 

Nay, more! There blows from every fragrant blossom 

Each a swaying censor which beautifies the splendid 

More perfumed incense than could rise [earth, 

Thru any stenchant smoke from any altar-hearth ! 

We grace thy name ! The flowered earth gives grace ! 

Ipalnemoani — '*by whom we live" — 

We offer thee our living hearts, His more 

Than all the fragrant perfumed flowers give! 



— 38 



AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. 

Upon those browning crumbling bones 
(Now near to earthly dust 
Within their dustless polished ease) 
Once lived the vibrant tissue 
With the warmth of woman-flesh. 
*Tis well the tight-wound linen 
Hides what once was woman-frame from view 
Since form has gone, and all is hollow mockery. 
But ah, those ghastly features ! 
The toothless jaw has fallen from its socket 
And now stands mockingly agape ! 
*Twas set on yestermorn in rows of pearl. 
And yesterday were lips to smile and speak and kiss ! 
Thru the crunched bones which mark the nose 
Were breathed the scents of perfume-laden air. 
Whilst overhead the sutured skull there grew 
The raven hair so proudly tressed. 

— 39 — 



And HOW below, two empty sockets 

Reveal the secrets of the dusty cave arear 

Wherein dwelt thot of good and ill and all : 

No longer do the sparkling eyes hide aught within 

And give it sight and life ! 

The citadel of thot is now for rent 

Of other tenantry than mind. 

Yet one cannot but ask 

What thots and hopes, what fears and dreams 

Perplexed your day or troubled sleep — 

What pleasures thrilled or pains annoyed. 

But rest in ageless sleep, and near the dust, — 

We know you are of kind with us. 



— 40 



IMPATIENCE DIVINE. 

thou great infinite idea 
Which impenetrates the All 
Impelling on and upward 
With divine impatience 
And energy eternal 
Everything that is 
Or was or shall be 
In the sum of being : 
Creating active strife 
And endless struggle brewing, 
Burning, clamoring expression — 
Impulsive force which makes all 
Incline and climb, yet cringe 
Attainment of the great Ideal — 
Stimulate this living life 
To reach and claim the power 
Which lever-like mil pry 

— 41 — 



The soul from lowly pits 
Of lethargy wherein have lain 
Too long too many souls 
Of men and things and All. 



42 — 



A PSALM AND A FALL AFTERNOON. 

Let me leave the wide road, 
The hard-trodden road 
Of the beaten paths of men ! 
Let me clamber the sagging wood-lot fence 
And kick the dead leaves with my feet 
In the groves of the gorgeous fall ! 
With the golden sun and the hazy air 
To liven the day for the dying leaves, 
As aflame in scarlet and gold 
They cling for a last farewell 
To the birds and the wind and the sky ! 
Let me feel the crunch of the soft mother-earth 
'Neath the heel of my unhallowed shoe! 
Let me reverently lean with my arms 
On the old rail-fence beyond 
And watch the unherded flocks, 
Or scan the corn-shocks, row on row, 

— 43 — 



Sturdy ^ards of invincible fall ! 

Let me bask in the beauty of present joy, 

And the sun, and the afternoon ! 

As waters from unfailing springs, 

There wells from the depths of mind, • 

Mysteriously half -understood, > 

The words of an ancient psalm 

....*' Thou crownest the year with thy goodness, 
And the hills are girdled with joy; 
The pastures are clothed with flocks, 
And the valleys are covered with grain; 
They shout for joy, and they sing.'* 



— 44 — 



DELIGHT . 

I delight 

.... To throw myself recklessly- 
Over the rocky ledge 
With the slender stream 
In a tenuous film of silver 
And dash myself into spray, 
Then reassemble and rush on. 

. ... To quietly slip with the winds 

Thru the shadowed ways of the woods 
And kiss the light-flower 'd poppy, 
Then scatter the scent o'er the fields. 

. ... To stand like the green live-oak 

And let the wind run quivering thru me 
And rustle the folds of my frock. 

— 45 — 



• , , , To lie like the rich brown earth 

Which gathers the warmth of the sun 
And feeling the glow of new-life 
Born of a welcome pregnancy 
Exhilirate forth in a wealth of flora. 

... To be companionable 

To earth, wind, water, and wood. 



— 46 — 



THE ROAD I CHOOSE. 

I lifted up mine eyes unto the hills 
And trudged with zest the upward path of youth 
Ascending from the vale of infancy. 
IVe reached the crest of manhoods sturdy road 
From here I see the path diversified — 
Direct and torturous, hither and yon, 
Out thru the vale and over summit 
Its' various courses lead, — 
Each with its hills and sunny meads to Wew, 
But each with its petty hindrances^ 
I know not which way to the best — 
I cannot take them all 
(I say so with regret!) 
So — this the road I choose 
And onward trudge! 
I trudge it zestf ul still ! 



47 



THE NIGHT - WATCH. 

Wearied with racking pain 
Which follows the surgeons' knife. 
Long thru the endless night 
With its* ceaseless calm and still 
I lay restlessly a-cot 
Waiting complete fulfillment 
Of either of two desires — 
Sleep, or the dawn: 
Relief from the pain of self 
By sleeping forgetfulness, 
Or interfusion of self in else. 



48 — 



MOTHER - LOVE. 

Who has ever seen 
The suffering of the silent mother 
Who stands besides the prim-made bed 
Of immaculate unruffled linen 
Whereon lies the fevered brow 
Of the boy she once gave birth 
And felt the tears 
She dared not well? 
Who has ever seen 
And knows not mother-love? 



— 49 — 



MOT HER 

How beautiful 
The memory 
Of mother ! 



— 50 — 



^TER SUNSET — A LONE STAR BEFORE DARK. 

One glimmering twinkly star 
Lumines the window-scape 
With its' limited gaze 
From a hospital cot : 
Lone star, blue sky above 
Fading to pink below, — 
Pink gashed with pointed gables, 
Weird shapes of trees and poles : 
Foot-steps below in the street, 
Clang of the distant car. 
Voices supprest in the hall — 
Lone star twinkling over all : — 
Suffer or sleep — God is near ; 
The night will pass 
And morning will bring the dawn. 



51 



THE CLOUD OF FLESH. 

The cloud of flesh which wrapped your hidden form 
Was precipitated by the chilly blast of death 
And leaves your truest self untrammeled now 
To stand forth sheathed with only glory 
In the light of glowing noontide sun. 



— 52 — 



IN THE MUSIC -ROOM. 

I beheld the sun-lit room, 
The polished instrument, 
Brown case and ivoried keys — 
And 70U — 

With unfolded sheet of notes : 
A touch of slender practised hands 
And room and keys and page 
Fade into a maze of mist and melody 
Into music-mist and you. 



— 53 — 



Descriptive music. 

My rocking ceased ; 
And soon the chair was still: 
For from the polished instrument 
With noiseless ivoried keys 
There came a scene of sound — 

On either side the tree-clad banks 
Of a sun-lit woodland stream : 
And down between the sound-banks 
Came a rippling melody of laughter 
As the brook of notes unceasingly 
Babbled on from side to side 
Slippered by moss-topped stones, 
Fanned by wood-flower-scented breeze, 
Heralded by sun and fluttered shadow. 
The sound-stream gaily triple-trickles on. 

— 64 — 



A folded page ... A dying chord . 
I closed my eyes and rocked again. 



— 55 



REPLY TO OBSCENITY. 

Dame Nature has a shame that's all her own — 
Nay, shame is not the word 
For shame means moral turpitude 
And morals are not hers. 
Well say not shame, but modesty 
Which shrinks from filthy show; 
Not to deceive or lead astray, 
Disown the wrong she knows is there — 
But not only to put it forward. 
Nor is she less strong that this is so. 
Less worthy of the worlds' respect: 
Virtue lies not in display of passion ; 
Sturdiness is not of stallions' fire. 
She need not be too nice to not be rude ; 
Nor need be rude and boorish lest too nice 
And being nice — too weak ! 
The ivy-tendrils, leaves, and vine 

— 56 — 



Trail o 'er the crumbled ruined walls of weakened men 

And hide to beautify decaying shame ; 

The lichen hides the harshness of the limestone tomb ; 

The mats of moss conceal and glorify 

The dismal dreary swamps of putrid mud ; 

The southern jessamine o'erclambers green 

The blasted pine of woodland solitudes 

That else were shameful. 

So need not man be hesitating to avoid immodesty, 

Nor need be rude to prove him man ; 

Display the base to prove him bold ; 

He need not tell or sing a song of shame — 

Too many things too better to be told. 



— 57 



THE GROWTH OF AN IDEAL. 

Whether from the slime of ocean ooze 
Emerged the germ which generated life 
Of man and fish and bird, 
Or whether God or gods created him and them 
Complete in form, concerns us not ; 
We only know he is and they. 
We see his stooping form emerge 
From dismal dark of dusty cave 
Half-erect, low-browed and stern. 
With pudgy belly and unkempt hair ; 
Killer of the beasts, yet one of them; 
Carver of the bones whose flesh he gnaws ; 
This once the thing that now is man ! 

And then from Tigris Valley and from Nile 
We learn of cities walled and strong. 
Of waging wars, and conquests 
Carried into dim and distant lands : 

— 5'8 — 



And then the seas were won from gods of fear, 

And more fleets plowed the blue 

Than tilled the black and fertile earth. 

Anon Rome dons the warriors helmet 

Worn by Greece of yore 

And subjugates the earth; 

And underneath her tutelage the nations rise 

And supercede their patron. 

But all the while the cave-man grows 

And sloughs his stooping hairy form 

And bestial code of life. 

Leaves caves and beasts to guard 

The low-browed skulls of yore 

While he ascends 

To be the lordly democrat of all the earth, 
Potent over elements and sea and air, 
Tho holding still the unreached folds 
Of rich ideals in view. 

It doth not yet appear 

What he shall be ! 

— 59 — 



BEYOND THE GRASP. 

He walked along the rocky ledge 
That grooved the hip of earth : 
The crevices above which gathered soil 
Gave root to hardy flowers of the wild, 
And in the suasive July sun 
Each stalk was toppled heavily 
With its load of floral gold. 
The heart and hand were tempted 
To garner in a sheaf. 
But those he held in hand seemed 
Not quite the peer of those beyond: 
Some missing petal, dull of shade, 
Or some lesser fault in all. 
But ah, — one just above the reach 
Seemed flawless — perfect in every line. 
The one desired blossom of them all ! 

— 60 — 



So is it ever thus in life : 
The thing we hold in hand 
Seem's less than what's beyond the grasp, 
And leaves ns discontent 
To long and strain for the ideal 
Which is ever only just beyond ! 



— 61 — 



THE BEGINNING OF THE DANCE. 

(Japanese Legend.) 

Whence came the dance? 
Who first discovered beauty 
In the form of rythms ' song ? 
Who felt the joyous stir, 
The thrill of pulsing sentiment, 
That swaying with the trees, 
The babbling stream of brook. 
The unseen breath of wind 
Make mighty moving melody? 

The fathers of the race reply: 

On the morning of creation 
Ere the mists of time arose 
And the grasses of the earth 
Were sparkled with the dew. 
When the world was fresh-created 



62 



And the sun was bright and new, 
It happened so ..... . 

Thru the woods of gladsome springtime 
Tripped a faun abrim with life ; 
Trees and shrubs full-budded 
Awoke a happy thrill of soul 
Flowers called unceasing 
And the sweetness of their odor gave delight : 
The sun gave energy to thot and soul. 
One beautiful pure blossom 
Defiled but by an hours sun 
Seized his soul, and drew it out 
And up, above his utmost reach; 
Its whiteness dazzled and entranced — 
He sprang to grasp and hold it, 
But when the firm earth left his feet. 
He knew the dance and kept it 
Tho the blossom he might covet held its place. 

— 63 — 



And still the stream and the tree-tops, 
The wind and the waves of the wild 
Dance and teach this rythmic joy 
To the faun, the nymph, and the child. 



— 64 — 



THE FLOWING SPRING. 

Below a grass-clothed knoll 
Where grow the green live-oaks, 
There flows a cooling spring 
Out o 'er the lap of limestone 
Roof above and shelf below. 
Quietly it ever flows 
Out and on, 

The stillness only broken 
By the gurgling of the little stream 
As laughing at its pebbly path 
And the clear-throated song 
Of a lone bird above. 
It is a spring of magic mystery 
To kiss the thirsty roots 
Of stream-side plants and reeds 
With healing soothing lips, 
While mirroring the sun. 

— 65 — 



My mind is a flowing spring : 
A magic mystery of thot 
Rising from unseen sources 
And moving stilly out and on 
To kiss with fluid lips 
The roots of reasoned order 
In the universe of thirst 
For explanation of its being, 
And the stream reflects (sometimes rofracts) 
The illuminating rays of reason 
Which emanate from the divine. 



— 66 — 



THE CINEMATOGRAPH. 

Seated in a cushioned opera-chair 
~ Within the cheap theatre of reflection 
I watched the lighted action on the screen. 
The sound of voice was silent 
Save the dreary hum of whispered comment 
And the faulty melody of woe or joy, 
Of gleeful ragged discontent 
Or of sullen pathos 
As mayhap fit the action 

Which alone disturbed the tranquilized occasion. 
The reel rolls on — the length of memory. 
The film of deeds once done 
Is re-enacted here for ruthless rumination. 
The alternating flickered light 
For days of animated action, 
And an instantaneous flutter for the nights 
Eeweave before my eyes a film of life 

— 67 — 



For solemn retrospection. 

The hero of the tale secures award; 

The villain takes his due. 

I sigh the sight is so soon done. 

A click! .... the picture's o'er, 

And ended in a blinding glare of light ! 

I rise to go . 

A few more days may flutter out 

The action of my lif es enacted tale ; 

A few more flickered scenes of shortened nights 

May intersperse the whole 

"While I retain my seat 

And see my actions featured 

By the cinematograph of God. 

• «•••• 

And then will come the glare? . 



— 68 — 



THE CLOUD WITHIN THE POOL. 

Beneath the fluttering shadows of the gorge 
In the cooling freshness of the springtime green 
The white-flowered trillium topples drowsily; 
In the wetness of last seasons fallen leaves, 
Modest and almost quite unseen, there grows 
The wild ginger with its richness folded in corolla 
Of a humble brown. The spatter of a nearby waterfall, 
The rustle of the newly opened leaves, 
The merry chatter of returning feathered friends. 
Melt into indistinctness. My thot is otherwhere. 
A convenient moss-rugged log invites to rest and medi- 
On the wonder and the glory of the opening day [tation 
In this forenoon of the year. 

The narrow streamlet at my feet in freshet swept 
Its limestone path and left a pool 
Of clear and quiet limpid water 
Wherein my gaze, invited, falls. 

— 69 — 



I note the fossiled coral in the pool 

And send my meditation to the days 

When ocean ooze and clamminess here reined supreme, 

And laid this down to keep until today. 

And centuries of earth are melted from my mind. 

But deeper down it seems I see 

A framed expanse of clear unmeadowed blue : 

And even now far down there moves 

A silvered fleece, ungilded by tradition, 

Which sweeps the bottom from the stream 

And leaves a vacant blurr where had been 

Trees and pool and rocks and leaves 

And time — and I 'm alone with God 

In reverie and fantasy and dream. 



— 70 — 



BRUCE ISMAY'S SOLILIQUY. 

The melancholy wind unceasingly 
Sweeps the barren waste of unplowed field 
From rocky shore and restless dreaded sea 
And seeks me out upon the dreary land 
To speak the silent voices of the dead : 
The dead the deep insatiate sea devoured — 
Some unprepared, but others brave — 
Tho dead are all thru fault of mine . . . 
Deep down they lie, 
Deep down they lie, 
Deep down in the surly sea 
And their voices cry. 
Their voices cry, 
They cry from the deeps at me ! 

The ocean tosses up into the wind 
With the constant heave of her surging breast 

— 71 — 



The agony-cry of those who drowned 
When my ship went down in the sea 
With a hole in her side two fathom wide 
And a half -ship-line in length : 
Yet still from the sea they cry at me 
In the restless voice of the wind . . . 

**Deep down we lie 

Deep down we lie, 
Deep down in the surly sea!" 

Oh their voices cry, 

Their voices cry ! 
How they cry from the deeps at me ! 



72 



A PILE OF STONES ON MT. CHEYENNE. 

''.What's this, a devil-tree. 
With piles of stones about its trunk, 
Each stone a memorable token 
Of imprecation uttered here 
Upon some foul spirit?" 
''Not so — for here lies one 
Who loved these crooning pines, 
These rugged cliffs of Mt. Cheyenne 
And prolonged her ebbing life 
Within the folds of each. 
She 's buried here at her request ; 
And these stones are each a token 
Of the love that someone bore 
The holder of a pen that moveth not 
To write a line forever more. 
A pile of stones beneath a pine; 
But ah, could one discern 

— 73 — 



The pile of pleasant memories 
Of hosts who held her dear, 
'Twould far outweigh the weight 
Of stones thus builded here 
In crude unlettered altar!'* 



... 74 -_ 



THE OLD MAN AT THE DOOR. 

He sat upon the sloping stoop 
In front the sagging door 
Which stood ajar invitingly 
And yet forbidding trespass 
On that sanctity 
He called in courtesy his home. 
The companion of his latter days, 
A mongrel dog, drowsed near his feet. 
His home-made cane of cherry-limb 
Flecked uncertainly a loosened pebble 
From the sometime graveled walk. 
Box-elders shade the humble door. 
And stray flickers of the risen sun 
Flutter thru the scene uncertainly. 
A clump of untrimmed lilac at the gate, 
A few old-fashioned lilies and some bouncing Bet, 
* Volunteered,' suffice for flowers, 

— 75 — 



Save for the straggling rose 

From whose blossomed pink, 

Dew-weighted, there falls a faded pedal. 

The old man waked with dawn, 

But shares not the shaded songs 

Of rustic home-yard birds, 

Noisy chatter of the sparrow 

Or the ruddy-breasted robins* cheerful churck, 

Thinks not of mid-morning sun 

Nor notes the sparkling dew 

Upon the unbrowsed grass 

Within the apple-orchard lot 

Where frolic pastured calves 

With young bucolic lack of grace. 

All unmindful of the teeming world about him, 

Absently he sits with lowered head 

Fumbling with his homely cane, 

And dreams. Not toil, not quests. 

Not seeds and plantings, nor of harvests 

— 76 — 



Is his mist of mind this morn; 

Too late today for these to be. 

But dim reckonings of those might-have-boens 

That had wrought for better or for worse: 

Thanks for the ills the flesh escaped 

And kept the humble spirit free, 

Regrets for the goods ungrasped 

And sorrows that their loss entailed. 

The wrinkled smile that played about the lips, 
The quiet luster of the aging eyes. 
Showed well the way the balance cast. 
My tread upon the walk disturbed his reverie; 
He rose, and came out in the sun; 
His grey locks glowed with glory in the sheen. 



— 77 — 



SOLITUDE DISTURBED. 

A little glade of water in a wood, 
Wherein there stood a crane with lifted foot 
And bill at rest upon her breast, 
Reflected trunks of trees in and beyond. 
The dead leaves of last season rustle 
In the wind that croons thru unleafed trees. 
The afternoon grows late, the sun grows large, 
The evening hush of solitude comes on 
More rapidly than coming of the spring. 
The crackle of a twig beneath my foot 
Provoked a sudden inharmonious start: 
The awkward crane ungainly dropped her foot 
And clumsily then flopped her way awood. 
I might regret intrusion on this solitude 
Had I not seen a woodland glade, 
A lazy crane, the drear gaunt trees, 
And heard last seasons' leaves 

Arustle in the wind. 

— 78-- 



A ROBIN IN WINTER. 

With the shrubs frost-tinseled grey 
All cottoned o 'er with snow 
And the rousing sun ascending 
From the ruddy right of east 
And setting all the world agleam 
In a glorious sheen of diamonds 
Riotously scattered on the breast 
Of the white-apparalled earth, . 
There comes a sense of vigor 
As of rejuvenating spring. 
The morning air is not too chill 
For friends to gayly greet good-morn 
With merry voice and hearty cheer. 
But no voice so unexpected 
Nor so lovely, full, and clear 
As when a strayling robin 
Hops without its hiding 

— 79 — 



Artlessly beyond the clump 

Of leafless lilac shrub, 

And challenges your friendship 

With a '^Church! Churck! Churck!'' 

you ruddy breasted robin, 

Spring's anticipated peer, 

Your full-throated churck of greeting 

Wins your welcome for the year ! 



- 80 



DIVERGENT PATHS 

''No, boys, I've quit! 
Damned if I'll be more besot 
And drunken as a hog unpenned — 
Or lewd as dog on city streets ! 
I '11 taste the vent my stomach vomits 
No more, I say ! The bleary eyes, 
The sick headache, the dismal shame 
Of hunting jobs I cannot get 
Nor hold so long as drink has hold of me ! 
My God men, I wakened in an alley yesterday. 
And say, — a sorry sight! 
My hat was gone, my trousers torn. 
My suit was old tho new ; 
And money? I could not have paid 
For breakfast had I w^anted one, 
Tho paid myself the day before. 
But say, when I got home 

— 81 — 



The Avomans eyes were red 

All ringed around with black. 

I knew she'd seen no bed that night, 

And cried her poor eyes out for drunken me ! 

The kids were up, and dressed — 

Glad to see me come home — sober — 

Too often drunk I'd come 

And beaten them — curse my beer-soaked hide 

And all my drunken ugliness ! 

'You're a pretty sight!' w^as all the woman said, 

But Bill, you know how your wife looks at you — 

She looked at me — and say! 

I broke right down and cried ! 

She loved me, boys, for what I had been, 

And not for what I was ; 

Same's your wife loves you too, 

And cries all night long for you 

When you're out on a spree. 

And boys, I tell you now, I'm thru: 

— 82 — 



No more of this for me ! 

I'm going to be clean 

And give my wife a man 

That 's fit to be the father of her kids ; 

And buy her grub and duds, 

Instead of tears and rags 

And foul-mouthed curses! 

Excuse me, boys, I 'm quit ! Good-by ! ' ' 

He walked away. The others walked. 
But toward another place than home; 
One looked as tho to follow him, 
Then caught the others eye. 
And muttered, ''Well, I'll be damned!" 
The other said, ''D'you 'spose he will?" 



83 — 



HOPE . 

(After the painting by George Frederick Watts.) 
Hope took up the harp of life 
And gently thrummed its strings 
As suited to her mood. 
The first one rudely snapped, 
And left her song without accompaniment. 
The second, and the third, the same! 
Undaunted, Hope then lifts the song again. 
And plucks the fateful final cord — 
Her disappointed ear athrill to hear 
As, blinded, bending low she w^aits to learn 
Whether the final string gives melody. 
Or lets the soul within her die 
With broken interrupted song ! 
Crouching o 'er the instrument of broken life 
On top a melancholy-looking earth, 
Expectantly she waits to thrum the final cord ! 
We gladly pluck the string with Hope! 
— 84 — 



NATURE 'S ALCHEMY. 
What magic alchemy is this 
To reach down in the unattractive clay by root, 
And grasp a grain or two of earth, 
Transport its weight above 
And spread it out beneath the sun in bits. 
All colored gay with careful nicety? 
Sometimes arrayed in gaudy floral petal, 
Mayhap in deep-hued leaf, or curling tendril ; 
Or else, more wonder still, 
A delicate aroma exhaled to scent the air 
And draw a pollenizing agent to your purpose! 

I do not understand but only know. 
This alchemy of Nature and her God. 
It baffles thot, defies experiment. 



85 — 



THOTS AFAR. 

I send my thots far off 
Unto the dim distant edge of the universe 
All golden-rimmed about with stars, 
And ask them on return, 
''What is beyond?" 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



nmm,^,{^,!^y. °^ CONGRESS 

iiiiiiH 

015 799 394 A 




